


Anywhere (with you)

by IndianSummer13



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: An attempt to make the events of 2x05 better, Angst, F/M, First Time, Mild Smut, No mention of Toni Topaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 22:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12691395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndianSummer13/pseuds/IndianSummer13
Summary: Her call comes right before he’s due torun the gauntlet. There’s a period of time where the seconds themselves seem not to pass - a period of time where the only things that exist are the ringing of his phone and the slamming thud of his heart. Answering isn’t a conscious decision.“Can we go?”He can hear the crack in each syllable; can somehow hear the silent tears too. “Where?”“Anywhere.”Or, Betty and Jughead hop on that motorcyle like they'd discussed in Pop's - and drive.





	Anywhere (with you)

**Author's Note:**

> My poor Bughead heart! 
> 
> The timeline for this piece is sort of in the middle of 2X05, although I couldn't quite figure out the timeline for the episode so I just kind of went for it.

Her call comes right before he’s due to  _ run the gauntlet _ . There’s a period of time where the seconds themselves seem not to pass - a period of time where the only things that exist are the ringing of his phone and the slamming thud of his heart.

Answering isn’t a conscious decision. 

“Can we go?” 

He can hear the crack in each syllable; can somehow hear the silent tears too. “Where?”

“Anywhere.” It’s a whisper tinged with the faintest amount of hope and yet cloaked in sadness. Like she’s drawing some semblance of comfort from saying the words aloud, but not really daring to believe in them. 

Jughead wants her to believe in them so badly that his own words take a while to form on his tongue. When they finally do, they feel like shards of glass. “Where are you?”

Betty’s sigh is shaky and there’s an audible sniff; a flurry of new tears (and  _ they’re _ not silent this time either) “The bus stop on the south road.”

He tells her to wait and then ends the call, looking at the clock. Time’s started moving again and it’s edging closer to that inevitable darkness he knows is coming. His wallet lies on the table and he stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans before eyeing the leather jacket hanging from the back of the chair.

He picks up the fleece-lined sherpa, his motorcycle key and doesn’t look back.

  
  
  


When he arrives at the solitary bench, Betty’s already standing - arms wrapped tightly around herself like they’re the last thing holding her together. She inches forward, her eyes swimming in tears and her face red and sore. 

“Betts,” he starts, but she shakes her head. Wordlessly, Jughead hands her the helmet and she pulls the tie from her hair, shaking the waves loose.

Once she’s seated behind him, her arms come to wrap around his middle instead. He isn’t sure how loudly she voices the word but it’s discernable over the engine’s roar.

“Go,” she says. 

He wants to ignore the terror etched into those two letters.

He can’t.

  
  
  


Jughead drives until his eyes ache with the dark. They reach a gas station and he fills up the tank wordlessly: although their destination isn’t decided, they’re not far enough away from Riverdale yet and they both know it. 

He buys her a KitKat from the candy stand on the counter - if he’s flagging, he can’t imagine how tired she must be - and forgoes any kind of food himself in favour of keeping the extra dollar in case they need it later. 

They sit on the raised concrete beside the pump and rather than lean against him like he expects her to, Betty sits ramrod straight, like someone’s pulling her up from her toes to the tips of her ears. He says nothing and presses his fingers between his knees.

(They’re burning to touch her and he’s beginning to wonder whether the sole purpose of her not sitting closer is, simply, self-preservation)

  
  
  


Jughead gets his answer when he finally pulls off of route 81 somewhere in Virginia. His own legs are a little unsteady after close to seven hours spent on the bike, but Betty practically collapses when she sets her feet on the ground. He hauls her body against his, chancing a look up at the motel they’re parked in front of. 

_ Could be worse _ , he thinks. (Though really, he’s not sure how much worse things can get)

The clock behind the desk at reception tells them it’s gone 3am, ticking obnoxiously while the old man behind the counter selects their room key from a box on the wall. His eyes linger on Betty’s face and when she twitches her lips into a sorry attempt at a smile, Jughead feels his body shift of its own volition to shield hers. She shouldn’t have to pretend for anyone when she’s this tired. (She shouldn’t have to pretend for anyone, period)

  
  
  


Once they reach their room and he’s shut and locked the door behind them, Betty sinks into his chest, clutching at any part of him she can get. Her breaths are gasps clogged with sobs and all he can do is hold her against him and will her to understand that whatever happens, she’s  _ it _ for him.

Maybe, he thinks (hopes?) his heartbeat will do for her what words can’t.

Finally, her limbs sag and the gasps are quieter, more steady - rhythmic even. Jughead doesn’t pull away, but gently guides them towards the bed and draws back the sheets. The mattress dips when she sits down and only then does he step back, just enough to look at her properly. She’s staring straight ahead, like there’s a magnet fixing her eyes to the wall.

“Your coat,” he whispers, like speaking with any more volume is prohibited. “You should… can I take it off?”

She nods once - albeit fractionally - and he sinks to his knees, fingers peeling off the pastel pink material. She’s wearing a sweater too, and jeans and boots despite the fact it’s been relatively warm out lately. 

He wants to ask her where she’s been. Instead, he says, “And your boots?”

Betty nods again and he continues until she’s wearing only a white camisole and pale underwear. Jughead tries not to notice that said underwear are made from lace and have a tiny white bow at the top, but his mind is swirling and somehow, those details sneak into the tornado too. 

“Betts?” he asks, stroking his fingertips from her knuckles to her nails. Only at that do her eyes leave the wall and meet his. A strange noise leaves his mouth: the beginnings of a sob, he thinks, with a side order of a sigh too. Her hands reach out to frame his face and in an instant, his breathing calms. (He hadn’t realised his chest was heaving so sharply)

“Jug,” she whispers. 

He knows what she means without the words leaving her lips. 

He nods and peels off his own jacket then unties the plaid shirt from around his waist. His beanie goes next, tossed onto the set of drawers across from the bed, and then his boots. Finally, he removes his jeans too, then watches as her eyes travel upwards from his boxers to his own. 

“Is this…” he starts, attempting to swallow the thickness out of his throat. “Is this okay? I can -”

“- It’s okay,” Betty interrupts, drawing her legs up from the floor so they’re curled under the sheets. 

Jughead flicks off the main light so the room is lit only by the dim bulb in the bedside lamp, then crawls in beside her. When she shifts, brushing her knee against his thigh in the process, his heart starts hammering all over again.

This time though, it’s for an entirely different reason.

He’s a little unsure of what to do when she’s lying so close like this. They’d fallen asleep together on the couch not too long ago; there’d been plenty of movie nights where the same had happened too - and of course, the events after the jubilee before everything had gone wrong - but this is a decided shift. 

In the end, after he’s turned out the lamp too, it’s Betty who makes the move. “Will you hold me?”

He hates that she’s had to ask.

She’s enveloped in his arms in milliseconds, her face hidden in the crook of his neck so that he can feel her breath tickling and then burning his skin. Her nose is pressed so closely to him that Jughead wonders if she can even breathe properly, but he’s not going to pull away enough to find out. 

Betty’s hands come to rest between his shoulderblades, thumbs hooked through the arm holes of his vest as she slips both knees between his legs. He’s completely surrounding her and only once he twists just enough to dust a kiss into her hair does he feels her eyelids sweep closed.

  
  
  


In the morning, he wakes before she does. It’s most probably a result of the curtains being open and as much as he’s disgruntled about interrupted sleep, the light filters across to the bed to frame the girl beside him perfectly. 

Her camisole has ridden up to expose the smooth expanse of her pale stomach and Jughead finds a couple moles there that he hasn’t seen before. She’s still wearing her bra underneath and it’s doing just enough to push her breasts to the point that there’s a definite curve arched above the material. 

He plants a kiss on her shoulder and then her forehead before inching off the mattress to pull the curtains closed. As much as he could look at her like this forever, he wants her to sleep. 

Through the door at the end of the room is the bathroom, tiled in a depressing off-white that gives the impression that it hasn’t been cleaned in a while, although when Jughead pulls back the shower curtain he’s pleasantly surprised to find the bath in a more favourable condition than he’d expected.

He shuts the door gently so as not to wake Betty, then takes a long shower that’s hot enough to sting his skin. He doesn’t turn on the fan in case it whirs loudly and so the steam makes it hard to breathe. 

By the time he’s finished, brushed his teeth with one of the tiny complimentary toothbrushes stuck in a plastic cup beside the sink and then stepped back into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist, he finds Betty lying awake. She sits up a little as he treads closer, running a hand through the blonde waves of hair that’ve tangled a little since last night. 

Her voice is rough - hoarse, he concludes, from last night’s crying. “Hey.”

Jughead closes the gap between them and seals his lips over hers. It’s only after he’s pulled away that he realises they haven’t done that since Pop’s. She pushes up onto her knees so that she can kiss him again, her hands curling around his neck to tangle in the damp strands of his hair as she sighs into his mouth. 

“You taste like mint,” she says softly once she’s pulled back. He smiles genuinely for the first time in as long as he can remember. “I feel dirty.”

Jughead fingers the thin strap of material seated on her shoulder. “Maybe we should’ve brought some spare clothes.” 

He means it to be something like a joke but it doesn’t make her smile. Instead, what she says - sadly - is, “We can’t hide forever.”

He knows that. But it’s not like they’re hiding. “We’re just taking some time out,” he tells her. What he  _ doesn’t _ say is that he knows they have to go back.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Betty says after a few moments of silence. “Maybe after, we can go get breakfast?”

_ Bringing up food _ , he thinks, the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips.  _ Her way of apologising for being blunt _ .

He kisses her once more and then straightens up. “Sounds good.”

  
  
  
  


When she emerges, it’s in a cloud of steam with a grey-white towel wrapped around her chest; long, lean legs stretching for miles; hair in damp waves against her shoulder and a water droplet trailing from her sternum downwards to the hidden valley between her breasts.

Jughead swallows and averts his eyes, realising guiltily that he was staring. When he looks back at her face, something’s shifted in her expression that implies he should move. 

So he does, surging across to where she is.

He captures her lips with his, gently at first and then with more pressure until she’s inching backwards with his shirt clutched in her fists. The backs of her calves hit the bed and he detaches their mouths, dipping his head down in attempt to regain the breath she’s stolen. 

Her pupils are blown wide - deep, dark circles of black edging out almost all of that green he loves so much. She wants him.  _ Like that _ .

The realisation makes his breath stutter awkwardly, so much so that he nearly coughs, and he’s not really sure what to do because the last time they were (kind of) in this situation was in his trailer all of those weeks ago.  

Betty lifts her chin and he sees there’s no hesitation on her part. And that’s enough.

He lays her down gently on the sheets, the towel inching higher up her legs until her centre is barely even covered, and then he settles on his side so that his right hand is free to unwrap her. It’s better than opening a gift on Christmas morning - seeing her like this in front of him and Jughead just doesn’t know where to look. He wants to see everything all at once and she’s such a visual overload, hair spilled out across the pillow and all of her porcelain skin on display without the interruption of clothing, that he’s sure his brain is close to short-circuiting. 

Something flits across her eyes then, changing the air abruptly. He thinks it might be hesitance defying her. Or...maybe not hesitance at all. Worse, he realises. She’s  _ embarrassed _ .

“Betty?” He traces her jawline and then her lips with his thumb and her eyes are shining. Not with tears (at least, he doesn’t think so) but nerves, maybe. “We don’t have to -”

“- I want to,” she whispers, grabbing his arm so he’s effectively covering her body with his. So he can’t see her. “But I...I’m a…”

She doesn’t have to finish. He knows she’s a virgin and yeah, he might’ve done this before a couple times but he’s certainly no expert. Changing the focus of her sentence, she says, “You’re still wearing your clothes.”

He chuckles slightly and the rumble that passes through his chest vibrates against hers, moving her breasts up and down. He has to stand in order to take off the jeans and shirt he has on, during which she covers herself with the damp towel. Once he’s in only his boxers and vest, he pauses, watching her. Betty swallows visibly. 

“Aren’t you going to take those off too?”

He does, nerves seizing the excitement fizzing in his veins but he focuses back on the girl in front of him. The sharp intake of her breath when his boxers fall to the floor and he steps out of them is loud in the quiet of their room and Jughead lays carefully back down on the mattress beside her. 

“Can I?” he asks, fingers reaching out to the towel that’s covering her. 

She gives a single nod then breathes out a shaky, “Yes,” and he makes sure to keep his eyes on hers the whole time. Only once he’s dropped the towel to the floor does he kiss her, sucking her bottom lip until her breaths aren’t shallow because she’s nervous, but because she wants more.

He works his way down her neck, noting somewhere in his brain that she’s making noises that can only mean something  _ good _ and then he reaches her collarbone. His kisses are softer here, lips much lighter so he can follow them with his nose; so he can smell the motel shower gel on her skin (and even  _ that  _ smells good on her). When he reaches her breasts, he pauses so he can look at her face.

“You’re so beautiful Betts.”

He presses a kiss to the underside of her left breast and then takes her nipple in his mouth, at which her body arches upwards off the bed with a word sounding very much like a curse tumbling out of her lips. Swirling his tongue, he grins when she makes the sound again but louder this time, and that’s when he decides to use his hands too. 

He runs them along the inside of her thighs while working her right breast with his mouth and there’s a distinct whimper when he deliberately ignores her clit. Dragging himself back up to her mouth, Jughead sinks his tongue past her lips and kisses her until there’s no air left in his lungs.

Then he heads south.

His mouth on Betty’s core makes her moan and the sound travels straight to his groin, making his dick twitch. He’s already hard - didn’t need anything more than the sight of her lying naked beneath him - but now it’s practically painful.

“ _ God _ , Jug,” she gasps, clawing at the sheets, and so he does the same thing again, drawing a long flat line with his tongue before sucking on her clit. He continues, licking and sucking until her whole body’s trembling and that’s when he sinks a finger inside of her, slowly and carefully, but it’s enough to send her over the edge so that she comes with a startling amount of noise. 

When he pulls back, he can still taste her on his tongue as he inches his way back up the bed. She’s breathless and her eyes are a little unfocused but there’s a real, wide smile stretched out across her lips that makes Jughead’s heart soar. Her hand reaches out lazily to stroke him but he shifts so she can’t reach.

“I won’t last if you do that,” he says, then realises what the statement implies. “I don’t mean we have to...we can stop here if -”

“- No,” she replies, shaking her head. “I want to.”

He suddenly remembers the little packet resting on her vanity box back in her bedroom. “Are you still taking your pill?”

Betty nods and his heart jumps into his throat. 

“Tell me,” he urges, winding a few strands of her hair around his hand, “if it’s too much.”

She nods again and he presses his lips once more to hers before settling himself between her legs. He nudges her clit gently a few times, drawing a couple of gasps while trying not to lose all self-control. When her hips begin to lift upwards, he shifts slightly so he can position himself at her entrance.

“You sure?” Jughead asks, watching her carefully.

“Yes.” Her voice is quiet but the tone is determined and so he presses forward. He’s not even fully inside of her but already it’s the best place he’s ever been. Chancing a look at her face, he finds her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth and her fingers are clutching at the sheet. 

“You okay?”

She nods and he pushes further. Her hands fly up to his biceps, gripping hard and he swallows. It’s hurting her. 

“I want you to,” Betty says. “Please.”

That last word overrides the doubt because he withdraws and then sinks back in slowly, only further this time. It takes everything he has to stop himself pushing all the way into her and his thighs feel like they’re burning with the restraint but he manages to grit out a choked, “Again?”

“Yes.”

He follows her instruction and pulls out, only this time when he pushes back into her, it  _ is _ all the way until he’s buried within her walls. He closes his eyes to fight the curse threatening to spill from his lips, and when he opens them again, he finds Betty staring at him. Her grip on his arms has loosened, he realises, and when he reaches to kiss her, her eyes flutter closed.

After that, he begins to move. 

It’s incredibly slowly at first - so carefully measured that Jughead almost forgets to breathe. But then Betty’s hips start to lift, meeting his, and they begin to form a sweet rhythm interspersed with hot, low bursts of air against each other’s lips.

He comes inside of her not more than a few minutes later and she lets him lie against her with almost all of his weight until he’s regained enough energy to move. She excuses herself to the bathroom and he spends the time she’s in there concerned about the small amount of blood on the sheet, but then she returns wearing nothing but the smile he loves so much and a tidal wave of relief floods over him.

“I love you,” he tells her as she settles back in beside him to trace idle patterns over his chest, breakfast all but forgotten.

“I know.” Her voice is suddenly choked with emotion. “Whatever happens when we go back, whatever _we_ _do_ when we go back, it’ll be because we love each other,” she says. “Right?”

Jughead catches her fingers with his and entwines them, bringing them up to his lips so he can kiss each one in turn. “Right.”

“But we’ve got time?” she whispers, “Before then?”

He speaks his words against her skin so that she’ll not only hear them, but feel them too. “As long as you want.”

  
  
  


The sky is dark by the time he drops her back at the bus stop on the south road three days later. 

“Because we love each other,” she murmurs against his lips, resting her forehead on the bridge of his nose. 

He nods, grits out a “Yes,” and then peels himself away.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always greatly appreciated.


End file.
